Summer - and the prospect of a 24-hour train journey to a South African beach resort from the hinterland. Peter, 12 years old, would make the journey alone to stay with his aunt and her family. He loved riding on trains, and traveling alone added that extra spice of independence.
Those old trains were noisy, swaying affairs. The gauges were a little too narrow, but no government was going to go to the expense of tearing them up and making them wider like the European tracks, so traveling on a South African train was a rattling, clickety-clack journey, with a side-to-side motion almost as pronounced as the forward one. The old steam engines had character, too. They huffed and chuffed and billowed out smoke, and when the train had to go through a tunnel, passengers would do well to first tightly close all the windows to stop a myriad specks of black soot from entering the passenger compartments. Fortunately, the engine driver always gave fair warning by loudly tooting about a minute or so in advance of the entry to the tunnel, which was as black as the soot itself, and in which the journey became a mad rush through thick, noisy darkness. Peter had traveled the route before, more than once, and when he had traveled with friends they had always timed every tunnel. The big one took 6 minutes to get through.
What Peter loved most was the overnight journey. The sleeper cars had bunks of 4, and the top two could be folded flat against the wall so the lower ones could be used as seats during the day. There was nothing so wonderful as sleeping on a bunk, feeling, as well as hearing, the endless clickety-clack, and soothed by the constant noise of the rattling train.
Peter climbed aboard with his suitcase and found his way to the sleeper compartment which his mother had reserved. Yes, just as he remembered: two thick green vinyl seats, two top bunks folded flat against the wall, and a steel wash basin under the middle window. He stowed his suitcase under one of the bottom bunks and leaned out of the window, where he saw his mother waiting. She would stand there and would wave until the train had gone out of sight.
While he was leaning out of the window, another passenger entered, and Peter turned round to see who it was. Peter's quick initial impression wasn't favorable. The man looked to be in his thirties, thin and sallow, quite tall, with thinning hair, and a rather unpleasant expression. Peter's heart sank a little but he wasn't going to let this stranger spoil his adventure. He greeted him shortly and leaned back out of the window.
The stranger stared at Peter's 12-year-old frame. His eyes focused for a moment on the neat, beautifully shaped boy's bottom under the thin cotton shorts; then he turned away and stowed his own suitcase under one of the bunks and sat down with a newspaper.
The time for departure was rapidly approaching and no one else had yet entered the compartment. The train gave a loud hoot and a guard blew a whistle, and outer doors began to slam. Peter's mother began to wave madly and Peter blew her a kiss. Then the train gave a sudden heave and began to creak forward, so slowly it almost wasn't moving. With a gradual increase of pace, it moved heavily long its rails towards the end of the platform, and within a minute Peter's mother was a distant speck vanishing around a corner, and the train was picking up speed.
Peter turned to sit down. The stranger looked up and noted the blond hair falling carelessly across Peter's forehead. Peter greeted the man, and was given in return a fleeting smile through yellowing teeth.
"Hello, young man," said the stranger. "What's your name?"
"I am Peter," answered the boy with distant politeness. "Pleased to meet you."
"Jacob," replied the man, and extended a hand which Peter took reluctantly.
"Going all the way?" he asked
"Yes," answered Peter. "I'm going on holiday to my aunt's. She has a house very close to the ocean and she invited me to visit. And you?"
"I'm going as far as Rietersfontein," came the reply. "I'll be getting off a few hours before the end."
They lapsed back into silence. The door slid open and the conductor came in.
"Tickets, please," he said, as he braced himself in the lurching doorway.
He punched the tickets, slid the door closed, and left.
"Where do you go to school?" asked Jacob.
Peter told him.
"Do you ever get in trouble?"
"Sometimes."
"All boys do," he said with authority. "I used to."
Peter could not imagine this man as a boy and did not answer.
"What happens when you get in trouble?"
"Detention, usually. The cane sometimes."
"Yes, the cane," said the man thoughtfully. "We got that a lot at my school."
Peter did not answer, but he cast his mind back to the caning he had received just two weeks previously, touching his toes in the headmaster's office. Six for handing in his homework late after repeated warnings. The headmaster had decided to send a clear and final message to him once and for all, and it had resulted in a very sore behind and raised parallel welts that he had studied in the mirror that night in the privacy of his bedroom. As he studied those welts in the mirror, he had a curious sense of well-being that he did not quite understand.
Peter did not elect to share this information and decided to leave this creepy stranger and explore the train.
He slid open the door and emerged into the narrow corridor that ran the length of the carriage between the sleeping compartments and the opposite outer windows. Walking down this corridor was like walking on a boat at sea. You had to be ever ready to steady yourself. It was fun opening the door at the end and passing from one carriage to the next, stepping onto lurching metal plates that overlapped in a crazy sideways dance.
The next carriage was also a sleeping carriage. Beyond that, Peter passed into a standard passenger compartment. Beyond that was a carriage that served as a bar and snack shop, and beyond that was the dining car. Peter paused at the snack shop to buy a hot dog, then slowly made his way back to the his sleeping car. To his relief he saw that Jacob was not there. He settled by the window with a Famous Five book and was soon absorbed in an Enid Blyton adventure.
A couple of hours passed. Peter was getting hungry and suddenly heard the clang of the dinner gong for the first sitting. A waiter was walking the length of the train banging a metal gong. Peter walked towards the dining car. As he passed through the bar snack shop carriage, he saw that it was now quite full. Men were sitting at tables and at the bar drinking beer. A group of men rose from one of the tables and left the bar as Peter passed by. Half-drunk mugs of beer remained on the table. Peter actually liked the taste of beer-it was highly illegal for a boy to drink, but he had sometimes drunk from a forgotten mug left on a counter at home and felt quite advanced in years when he did.
Peter decided to spice up his adventure a little bit. All of the remaining men were absorbed in each other's coarse chatter. He grabbed a mug from the empty table and quaffed it. As he lowered it back onto the table, he looked up, and there was Jacob, leering at him with a yellow, knowing grin from a table at which he sat with a group of men. Peter went red to the roots of his hair, hot with shame and embarrassment, and quickly passed through to the dining car. He sat despondently at a small table and ordered his dinner. Any moment he expected Jacob to enter, but he didn't; apparently Jacob was waiting for the second sitting.
After finishing dinner, Peter returned to his carriage. Jacob was still in the bar and Peter was careful not to catch his eye as he passed by.
He had recovered from his embarrassment and settled back down with his book under the window, losing track of time as day faded to night and the train lurched dependably on.
At about 10 o'clock the door slid open and in came Jacob. There was a smell of beer on his breath. He sat down opposite Peter.
"What would your father or your headmaster do if they knew you were drinking beer?" he asked looking straight at Peter
Peter didn't want to even think about that: the headmaster's cane or his father's hairbrush. Each was most unpleasant. The hairbrush was if anything more painful because it covered a broad area and caused deep bruising.
Peter went red and said nothing.
"If I reported you to the conductor, he would report you to the police. Have you ever had a police caning?"
Peter shook his head in silent terror.
"They say the scars never go away," added Jacob absently.
Peter sat like a stone.
"Would you like me to spank you instead?"
Peter could not believe what he had heard. Then he found his voice.
"People would hear," he said finally.
"Not if we were in a tunnel. We pass through the long tunnel early tomorrow morning."
Peter shook his head.
"Then I must report you to the conductor."
"All right, all right," said Peter in a sudden panic. "Do it if you must."
"Tomorrow morning, then. In the long tunnel. Meanwhile, it's late. Let's get ready for bed."
Jacob got up, and Peter followed suit. The two travelers reached down and pulled out their suitcases from under the seats, and each got out their pyjamas. Jacob unconcernedly took off his trousers and underpants, and Peter caught a glimpse of a very long penis before averting his eyes. Jacob pulled up his pyjama shorts and started to put on his pajama jacket.
Peter was more shy and turned to face the window before pulling down his shorts and underpants. As he bent down, Jacob saw six faint stripes from the top of the buttocks to just above his thighs.
"I see you've been a bad boy," remarked Jacob. "Got the cane recently, hey?"
Peter swung round in surprise, forgetting his modesty, and saw Jacob grinning.
"That was two weeks ago," said Peter, embarrassed, realizing that the stripes must still be faintly visible, and wishing he hadn't been quite so reticent about showing his other side.
Having put aside his shorts and underpants, Peter pulled up his thin cotton pajama shorts and put on his pajama jacket. He brushed his teeth, then asked Jacob if he would help pull down one of the upper bunks - Peter loved to sleep up high. Jacob obliged and Peter climbed up the ladder into bed, his thin pyjama shorts tight and smooth against his bottom as he climbed, a detail Jacob did not miss.
A few minutes later Jacob clicked off the light and climbed into the bunk below Peter. Peter lay restlessly thinking about the following morning. How hard would it be? What would he use? He felt a pit in his stomach, but also an undefined sense of excitement. Despite his dislike of his roommate, he knew he was in an interesting situation and a piece of him did relish that. But mostly he thought of his tender, vulnerable seat. Peter wasn't often punished, but it hadn't been that long since his encounter with the headmaster, as Jacob had quickly noticed. Perhaps Jacob would have forgotten or reconsidered by morning.
Eventually the lulling movement of the train won out, and Peter fell asleep.
He was awakened by a hand shaking his shoulder and a sallow face level with his own. To the side, bright sunlight was streaming in.
"It's 7 o'clock," said Jacob, showing his yellow teeth. "We can't be far from the tunnel."
Reluctantly, Peter sat up and climbed backwards down the ladder, pulling the bedclothes down with him. Jacob helped him fold them and then fold the bunk against the wall.
They sat down opposite each other. The fly on Peter's pyjama shorts, which was just two overlapping flaps, had pulled apart slightly when he sat down, but Peter was too nervous to be aware of that detail. He folded his hands in his lap and looked down despondently at them, not knowing what else to do with his eyes.
The shades facing the corridor were still closed from the previous night. No one, of course, would be looking in through the outer window.
"We can't be far now," said Jacob.
Pause.
"A hairbrush is what you really need."
Peter looked up quickly with a surge of panic.
"But I don't have one here. It'll have to be my hand. Probably a good thing for you since I plan to spank you the whole time we're in the tunnel."
Peter wasn't sure whether to be relieved that it was only a hand or alarmed that the tunnel was a 6-minute affair. The nervous excitement of his last moments before sleep came back.
Another pause.
"Come here," said Jacob.
Peter stood up very slowly.
"Come stand to my right."
Silently, Peter complied.
The train gave a loud hoot.
"Over you go!" said Jacob suddenly with a leer, and putting his hand against Peter's back, pushed him down across his lap.
"Lift your bottom."
As Peter did so, Jacob pulled the light blue pyjama shorts off his bottom and over his penis and clear down his legs, then lifted his right knee so that Peter was suddenly lying like a limp rag doll, head down low on one side, feet on the floor on the other, his bottom jacked up in the middle. Jacob stared down at the perfect pair of boyish mounds.
Since Jacob was still wearing his own thin pyjamas, he could feel Peter's penis against his thigh, and Peter could feel the man's own lengthy instrument pressing against him. He twitched a little and Jacob placed his hand on Peter's right cheek. How smooth and soft and firm it was. He rested his hand on the cheek and waited. Peter was completely still.
The train rattled on. Seconds later there was a second loud hoot and the train entered the tunnel with a roar. As it did so, Jacob's hand came crashing down with an inaudible clap on the cheek on which it had been resting, Peter gave an inaudible gasp, and the compartment was plunged into darkness.
They had forgotten to turn on the light before the train had entered the tunnel.
Jacob cursed and lifted Peter off his lap and placed him on the floor. He felt for the light switch. Time was passing. Finally his hand found the switch and flicked it on. Jacob looked round and saw that Peter was still on the floor on hands and knees, his pajama shorts at his ankles and his right cheek slightly pink.
Jacob gave Peter a hard slap to the left cheek, which caused Peter to jerk his head up, then he lifted Peter and sat down with the boy once more across his lap. He wasted no more time. His hand began to whale down on the boy's soft bottom. His method seemed to be one slap to the right cheek and one to the left; then two to the right and two to the left; then three to the right and three to the left; and so on.
At first Peter had lain still, but the sting was starting to become intense, and he began to yelp "ow!" with each slap and to wriggle a little. The ow's became louder and the wriggling turned to writhing as the minutes passed. Eventually the boy was bucking up and down under the crashing hand. Jacob noticed that the checks had passed from pink to red and splotches of purple were starting to appear. Peter felt this would never end and had the notion that this was beginning to approach the pain of a hairbrush. _d_a_m_n_, this man had a hard hand.
Suddenly the train burst out of the tunnel and daylight poured in again. Jacob stopped spanking and stared down at the writhing boy. After a few moments, he lifted him to his feet and saw the tear-stained face. Peter's hands flew to his behind and his eyes were screwed almost shut.
"Well, that's over," said Jacob with a grin. "All debts paid. Punishment complete."
Peter stood in place for a couple of minutes massaging his burning rear. Then he pulled up his pajama shorts. He thought better of it and took them off again so he could dress. He did so slowly. Jacob watched him the whole time.
Suddenly the gong sounded at the end of the carriage. The first serving of breakfast had begun.
"Hungry?" asked Jacob.
"No" replied Peter miserably.
"I am." And so saying, Jacob took off his pajamas and got dressed. Then he slid open the door and left.
Peter closed the door and locked it and stood on one of the seats so he was level with the mirror. He pulled down his shorts and looked into the mirror. It was an impressive sight: red with dark purple splotches; eventually it would all turn black.
As time passed, the burning sting began to recede, and when the gong sounded for the second sitting, Peter decided to go and eat breakfast. He walked stiffly to the dining car. On the way he passed Jacob coming back and averted his eyes.
When he arrived in the dining car, there were no empty tables. He eased himself into a chair at a table for two. A young man sat opposite him.
"Something troubling you?" he asked.
"No," replied Peter quickly. "I don't feel very well but I'll be alright."
The man's attempts to engage Peter in conversation faltered and died, and they finished eating in silence, Peter wriggling occasionally, which drew a curious look from his tablemate.
After breakfast, Peter returned to his compartment. Jacob had got out out his suitcase.
"Next stop Rietersfontein," said Jacob.
Peter felt a wave of relief and sat down heavily, then jumped up again.
"Ha! You forgot you had been punished, didn't you?" said Jacob with a yellow grin.
The train began to slow down.
"I expect I'll never see you again. But for the next couple of days you will remember me when you sit down. And stay away from beer!" he concluded with a chuckle.
The train pulled into the station and Jacob slid open the door.
"Goodbye, young man," he said, picking up his suitcase, and was gone.
The doors slammed, the whistle sounded, the train creaked, and the journey started to resume. Peter was now alone. The sting began to settle into a feeling of warmth. That curious feeling of well-being came over him again. Then he settled down with his book and got lost in it.